Painful choice

You were one of my very best fiends, I never wanted to hurt you. I kept her at a distance, or tried my very best. “Never be alone with her.” I made it a rule, despite how well we got along, she and I. The conversations we would have, creative and invigorating, I saw how easily they flowed and how deeply they delved as inappropriate; maybe it was how such conversations made me feel for her that made me feel guilty, the idea that someone like her was so close, and that I had reconciled myself to never being with her.

I saw how you treated her, a prize to to be left of a shelf. Seen but never heard. I saw how you ignored her, that creativity, that spark, treated like a threat to your ego; questions unanswered, ideas left unheard, mere interruptions and distractions from what you archaically thought should be her silent place, getting in the way of her chores in the house.

I heard how you spoke of her, your desire for her to keep meek and obedient, quiet and serving, I was appalled. To think that you viewed her so small, and yourself so large like it was less of a partnership and more like some strange employment; I couldn’t understand it.

I told you once that “you should marry that girl, or someone else will.” And still I saw how your eyes wandered when the boredom set in, how you flirted with others, keeping a wary eye out for something better when I assured you none would be found. And I saw her wilt. I witnessed her become like a trodden on flower, there at the end, from having put so much in, a monumental amount of effort that was clearly one-sided with pleas of help that went devastatingly unanswered.

After it had ended between the two of you, I had meant to allow time, I truly had, but one evening she asked me if I felt for her as she did for me. I knew then I didn’t want to start it all with a lie and I told her the truth, and neither of us could believe our luck. At that point, it was still so early, the parting between you, and I knew that It was to be a defining choice; maintaining the friendship with you, or taking the chance at something special, truly special with her. I chose her.

I know it seemed a betrayal,(and in some ways, I’ll grant it was) and ever since then you’ve convinced yourself that it was me, not you, that drove the two of you apart. It’s easier to paint me as the villain that schemed your divide from the shadows rather than admit it was your own apathy and ego; to paint me as a thief, as though she were a possession to be stolen and not feeling, thinking being. I truly hope you’ve healed, and have grown, but even if not I’ll bear the burden of your hate; it’s worth it. It’s worth it to see her glow return. To talk late in to the night, and early into the morning about her thoughts, her wishes. To muse alongside her all the nonsensical what abouts and imagine ifs. The chance to help support her arts and endeavors, the opportunity to collaborate on ideas and foster her growth, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Every single day I get to make her smile and hear her laugh. Iv gained the very best friend I can imagine, one I can and do share everything with, the person who is my home, rather than with whom I share my home with and for that, I made the right choice; the right trade it has proven to be, so to speak.

But you are strong, and I hope, that as time marches on, that you can grow to be able to share with someone that which she and I do, and I wish you the very best luck if finding that person.